Pregnant with the Mafia's twins
she asks as she meets my stride, following me to the car as we cross through the harsh cast of the streetlights.
I smile, laughing to myself as the memory resurfaces. “When I was seventeen. We got into a huge fight over a girl we both liked, but the truth was that she didn’t like either of us. When we both realized that, it was like all of the tension between us vanished. We were instant best friends.”
We reach the car again, and she slides into the passenger seat in a far less rigid, uncomfortable manner than before. She’s warming up to me, and she can’t deny it.